A Matter of Perspective
by Moonpumpkin
Summary: They argued because they cared. Each could see the danger in the other's lifestyle, and all they wanted was for the other to be safe. They were brothers after all. The Black brothers' insights into their tumultuous relationship. First chapter from Sirius' point of view, second chapter from Regulus'.
1. Sirius

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the HP universe and its characters**

"I don't know why you even bother with him," James said, passing the quaffle back to Sirius. They were sitting on their beds, blowing off steam after yet another public argument with Regulus by tossing the quaffle between them. Remus and Peter were in the Common Room working on the Potions essay Slughorn had set to give Sirius a bit of room to calm down. They all knew that Sirius had a hard time thinking straight when he was angry or exasperated.

On the contrary, Sirius felt that he was thinking as clearly as ever. Sighing, he said, "He's my brother, Prongs." James nodded, deftly catching the ball, but Sirius knew he didn't really understand. And how could he? He was an only child. Remus and Peter were, too. None of them could fathom the connection between siblings. They couldn't imagine that feeling of a common history, a basic understanding of your childhood and the events that shaped your personality, the disappointment when your brother falls in with the wrong crowd, the heartache when he claims he hates you, or how you could love him so much anyway, after everything. Sirius didn't quite understand it himself; sometimes he wished he could turn off his feelings so he could easily break ties with Regulus, but that would be the Black thing to do, and Sirius would not become like them. The other Marauders couldn't understand why Sirius fought so hard to save Regulus from his inevitable path. In their eyes, he was a lost cause, just another Slytherin.

But Sirius knew differently. Both Andromeda and his Uncle Alphard had been in Slytherin, and they'd turned out fine. And Sirius could see that Regulus wasn't as far gone as other Slytherins; he was just a good actor. Regulus knew how he needed to act, and so he did. He didn't want to get in trouble—he especially didn't want to be punished in the same manner as Sirius was—and so he became everything his family and housemates wanted him to be.

When Sirius was punished at home, however, Regulus always made sure he was alright afterward. He'd sneak into Sirius' room after their parents and Kreacher had gone to bed, and help tend to Sirius' injuries. He washed off blood, bandaged cuts, applied salve to bruises, and helped his brother into bed. When Sirius was sentenced to his room without dinner, usually several days in a row, Regulus would slip him leftovers late at night or early in the morning. When Sirius was locked in the closet or basement for hours, Regulus—who, unlike his brother, was permitted possession of his wand over the holidays—would send a small light under the door to accompany Sirius in the darkness. Sirius refused to believe these were the actions of a future Death Eather.

"Wotcher!" Sirius startled out of his reverie, just in time to catch the quaffle a millimeter from his face. James rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry, mate."

Sirius shook his head. "No, it was my fault. I kind of spaced out for a minute there."

They continued to pass the quaffle back and forth, now in silence. Sirius was doing his best to clear his mind of anything related to Regulus. It hurt too much sometimes. He was a good kid, really he was, and Sirius couldn't stand by idly to let him become everything their parents were. "Hey, Sirius?" James began, breaking the silence. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, shoot."

James caught the quaffle and held onto it, forcing Sirius to shift his full concentration to him. "You have to…just promise you won't get angry," James said tentatively.

Sirius blinked. "Okay," he agreed warily, drawing out the word.

James took a deep breath, picking at the leather seam of the quaffle. "We're brothers, right?"

Sirius didn't need to hear any more. "James," he growled dangerously. James visibly gulped; it was never a good sign when Sirius used his given name, especially in that tone. "You cannot be _that_ self-centered."

"I didn't mean—" James started, but Sirius interrupted him.

"Yes, yes you did mean it like that!" Sirius insisted, voice rising. "You were implying that you are more important to me than Regulus!" James flushed and tried to defend himself, but Sirius pushed through. "To answer your question, James, yes: you are my brother by choice. But do not make the mistake of thinking that means I love you more than Regulus. I don't. And I don't love him any more than you."

"Yeah, well, some days it seems like it," James mumbled. His neck reddened in shame immediately. He knew he shouldn't have said it, but he truly felt like Sirius was ignoring him for his stupid Death Eater wannabe brother lately.

Sirius grew quiet, uncomfortably calm. "So there it is. You're jealous." It was a statement—a cold, hard fact—not a question. James couldn't meet his friend's eyes. "Look, Prongs, if your situations were reversed—if Regulus was completely safe and you were in danger of potentially joining the Death Eaters—you know I'd be acting the exact same way about you. But you're the safe one. And thank Merlin for that. Because I still need you. I need your help."

James looked up to meet Sirius' gaze. His face was solemn and tired. James could see the bags under his eyes. "Regulus won't listen to me any more than you," he pointed out.

Sirius shook his head, blinking heavily. "That's not what I meant. I need you to keep me together. This shit keeps me up at night. I'm too nauseous to eat. I keep forgetting things. The point is, I can't help Reg if I'm falling apart. But I don't know how to fix it."

James smirked slightly, understanding finally washing over him. "No, you never have been very good at taking care of yourself when you're worried about someone else. I mean, Merlin, look at your hair!" he jibed, throwing the quaffle at his friend so fast it hit Sirius in the head, mussing up his prided black locks.

Sirius smoothed down his hair, glaring at James but grinning easily. "Stuff it, Potter." He wanted to say more, to thank James, but he knew James would just call him a poufter and brush it off. And anyway, he knew James understood. Now if only he could make Regulus understand.


	2. Regulus

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the HP universe and all its characters**

Sirius was gone. He'd actually left. Regulus always knew that it would happen. He'd tried to prepare for it by distancing himself from Sirius, focusing on becoming the ideal pureblood son. But he hadn't truly been prepared. Not for the silence Sirius left in his wake. Not for the suffocating dullness of Grimmauld Place. Especially not for the empty numbness he felt with the absence of his big brother.

That was a week ago. Now there was barely any trace that Sirius had ever lived there, had ever been a Black. Broken vases had been mended, portraits returned to their places on the wall, singes and stains taken out of the carpets. The only suggestions of Sirius' previous residence at Grimmauld Place were the lingering stench of the burnt family tapestry and his room at the top of the stairs. Walburga had tried hopelessly to destroy the evidence of her eldest son's rebellion, but his Gryffindor banners and muggle posters of motorcycles and models remained firmly attached to the walls. As much disappointment as he caused, it could not be said that Sirius didn't inherit his mother's talent for Permanent Sticking Charms.

Regulus had taken to sitting on the unmade bed in Sirius' old bedroom lately. He only dared venture there in the dead of night for fear that his parents might find out. Sometimes he suspected that his father knew about the visits, but he never said anything to Regulus or to his wife. Regulus wondered if deep down Orion actually missed Sirius.

Sirius had always been the favorite. Even when it was clear that he was a disappointment and not worthy of the title of heir of the Black family, he had received more attention than Regulus—the backup heir, essentially useless unless Sirius died or was disowned—ever had. That was why their parents had reacted so badly when he rebelled against the Black traditions. Sirius was smart—brilliant, really—charming, handsome, naturally talented, and overall the ideal heir to an ancient and noble pureblood family. Regulus could never hope to measure up to his big brother. He was smart, but not nearly as sharp or quick as Sirius. He had learned all the proper social graces of a Black but was still awkward and stiff. He had inherited all the same features as Sirius had, but the proportions were slightly wrong—his ears and nose were too big, his lips a little too thin, and his eyes a duller grey than his brother's. He'd always had to work harder to manage the same feats as Sirius, whether in school or dancing and music lessons taught to them by their tutor at a young age. Sirius was always better. No, Regulus decided, he'd never shine as brightly as Sirius.

Over the years, however, Regulus had resigned himself to this fate. Recently, he had come to embrace it. A war was coming. And Regulus—alas, not as brave as Sirius, by far—much preferred to keep a low profile. The one sense in which Regulus felt he bested Sirius was in his ability to stay out of trouble. And not just trouble punishable by detentions in school—Sirius welcomed that kind of trouble with open arms. No, Regulus was better at worming his way out of dangerous situations or avoiding them altogether. Sirius lacked basic self-preservation skills. He threw himself headlong into risky situations for the sake of his friends. His so-called "brothers."

It hurt, how close Sirius was to Potter. Sirius used to be that lose Regulus, before he left for Hogwarts. Before everything went all wrong. Sirius would tell him the most extravagant bedtime stories, tales so exciting that they would keep Regulus up rather than putting him to sleep. He used to invent all sorts of games for them to play together, like Knights and Dragons, Bridge Troll, and Catch the House Elf (a game that Kreacher was not particularly fond of). Sirius taught him how to ride a broom, how to catch a frog, and to whistle. On multiple occasions, Sirius stepped in front of Regulus and took a beating for him. Sirius used to be _his_ brother.

Of course Regulus expected Sirius to make friends at school. He was Sirius after all, how could he not? What Regulus had not anticipated was to be replaced. When Sirius came home for holidays, he still told Regulus stories, but now they were about his adventures with the "Marauders." They played Exploding Snap and Gobstones, game Regulus used to be better at, until Sirius' newfound friends taught him how to play better. Sirius still stepped in front of Regulus when he got hit, but it happened less and less since Sirius started being punished for own actions more and more. And it was all because of his stupid friends.

Regulus sighed into the darkness of Sirius' bedroom. His eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, and he took in the disarray of the room, contents scattered across the floor. Regulus' heart grew heavy as he gazed upon the Gryffindor memorabilia, muggle novels on the bookshelf, motorcycle magazines, and everything else that differentiated Sirius from the rest of the family. Regulus could not deny that Sirius was happier now than he ever had been at Grimmauld Place. Even as a child with the world at his feet, Sirius had always been restless and dissatisfied with the limitations of pureblood society. Regulus had always loved being treated like royalty, his mother's "Little King." As a child, Regulus couldn't fathom what else Sirius could want. But watching him thrive in Gryffindor, Regulus felt he could understand it, if only a little.

Regulus' eyes continued to roam across the room until they settled on Sirius' desk. A drawer was opened part of the way. Regulus had contemplated opening it all the way and rifling through it over the past week, but some part of him was afraid to disturb the last memory he had of his brother. The room was sacred to Regulus, though he couldn't rightfully justify why. Sirius had turned his back on them—on _him_—so what should Regulus care about preserving his room?

Angered, at Sirius or himself or both, Regulus couldn't say, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stalked to the desk. He threw it open roughly, not caring if he woke his parents. Dust, having already collected in the week Sirius had been gone (or maybe longer; Sirius had never been prudent about cleaning and refused to let Kreacher in his room), flew into the air, tickling Regulus' nose. Regulus suppressed a sneeze, admitting to himself that he didn't want to face punishment if his parents found him in Sirius' room. Peering into the drawer, Regulus pulled out a stack of photographs. He sorted through them, quickly noticing a pattern. Sirius and his friends by the lake. Sirius and Potter flying around the Quidditch pitch. Lupin reading a book by the light of the common room fire. Exploding Snap cards erupting in Pettigrew's face. Sirius laughing heartily, sporting a pair of dark sunglasses. Regulus' anger built at each image and, shaking, he threw them all across the room in frustration. They did not move very far, to his dismay, instead floating in a circle around him.

Heavily, Regulus slumped to the floor. He didn't know what he had expected. The Marauders had become Sirius' brothers six years ago. Regulus had been long forgotten.

The movement of a photograph by his knee caught Regulus' attention. Glancing at it reluctantly, he picked it up when he realized that he recognized it. It was of himself and Sirius at the beach when they were younger. Their Uncle Alphard had taken them a week after Sirius' eighth birthday, as a present, and they had played so much that they had fallen asleep without supper. Regulus remembered begging his mother to let them go again for his birthday, but as it was in April and therefore too cold, she refused, promising him something even better. She had taken them to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, an establishment they would not have otherwise been seen in, so that Regulus would have a special birthday. He could still remember that, while he enjoyed the ice cream, it wasn't nearly as fun as the beach.

In the photograph, Sirius was splashing Regulus in the shallow water as Regulus squealed, a huge grin decorating his face. Occasionally, Sirius would pick up a shell to inspect and show to Regulus before throwing it out into the ocean and resuming his splashing. Regulus turned over the photograph, hoping for…he wasn't sure what. A note to him? An explanation? Anything that resembled that Sirius had ever cared? But the back was blank, save for his uncle's untidy scrawl noting the date.

Regulus stared at the back of the photograph for a while, willing something else, anything else, to appear. The white paper simply stared back, mocking him. Sighing, Regulus flipped it back over to look at the picture again. They had been happy, once. The proof was in his hands. Why hadn't Sirius taken it with him? Regulus supposed he shouldn't feel too insulted—Sirius had been in a hurry, had left in a flurry of spells and angry words. He hadn't taken the pictures of his friends with him either. So why did it sting so much?

Regulus picked himself off the floor and tip-toed out of the room, photograph still clutched in hand. As he crept down the hallway toward his own room, he resolved that he would not venture into his brother's room again. It would not do to reminisce any longer. There was no doubt that Sirius would fight in this war. There was a good chance he would be killed. And nothing Regulus could do or say would change his mind. But he would keep this photograph, from an age ago, to look at whenever he forgot that there was a time when the world was right and good, or whenever he lost sight of the fact that it would someday be right and good again. And maybe one day, if Sirius managed to survive this war, Regulus could sit down with him and they could talk, just talk, like the brothers they once were.


End file.
